Bolt ~A Danger Date Story

oh my….the things that come into my head when I’m scrubbing the shower….oh yeah, dragons…we’re in full rape-fantasy mode on this one…~nilla~

“I said ‘stand fucking here.’ “

His voice was a rough growl, as menacing as his hand woven roughly into her hair. Giving her head a rough shake, he stopped her in the doorway.

“I’m almost done,” came a voice from by her feet. Waves of terror washed through her. There were two of them. It was midnight, or nearly so. The last warm breeze of the season fluffed the white gauze of her kitchen curtain; the only light in the space came from the nightlight under the counter by the sink. The billowing curtain held her attention, holding her mesmerized, as if by watching it she could pretend that two men were not in her house.

“Relax, you’ll enjoy it more,” whispered Hair Holder against her ear. The smell of soured beer made her nose crinkle. A hand fumbled for her breast, found it, and squeezed. Her feet moved in a small dance of hurt but the hold on her hair held her in the same place. A hand grasped her left ankle, another startling event.

please…” she breathed out the plea.

The man kneeling behind her worked quickly, ignoring her, fastening rough rope tight around her ankle. There was a hard tug. Her leg moved closer to the inside of the door frame, followed by a soft snick–she recognized it as a carabiner. She wanted to kick out, tried to, but her free leg was caught and wrapped just as quickly.

The hand at her tit moved, found the other, mauling it. Rough fingers mashed her nipple. Short little cries came, but his mouth slipped over her lips, silencing her. When he moved away, she tried to scream but a chunk of fabric was shoved deep against her tongue, filling her mouth. She tasted the bitter tang of urine. His underpants? Before she could spit it out, his hand covered her mouth. When it moved away, she felt the stickiness of the tape he’d left behind. Her feet were spread, anchored to each side of the door frame. For a moment she deeply regretted having the door widened this spring.

She still had her hands free, and his hand wasn’t locked into her hair. She flailed out, trying to see him in the gloom of the room.

“Ah, now, none of that.”

The other man. Damn but she’d forgotten him for a moment. He stood in front of her, his tall frame blocking any light. His face was shielded by shadows, his body a dark form; she could see nothing of his features. She tried to hit his face, his torso. Hands striking wildly, bouncing off hard muscles, she panicked.

A single hand secured her two without hesitation. She felt the noose of rope slip around her wrists, as she tossed her head and muttered ‘nooooo’, though no sound other than a faint grunt came from her secured mouth. Yet in moments, she was tied tightly, her hands drawn up and over her head, the rope secured through a carabiner as she had thought. A quick clip secured her to the fat O-bolt in the center of the upper frame, a bolt that had not been there when she had gone to bed hours ago.

Hands cupped her ass, tugging her hips forward. She shook her head no, once, then again as those fingers scrolled her nightgown up and over her round bottom. From behind her came a sharp smack and her head fell forward onto the hard-muscled chest in front of her. Whinnied screams came from her nose as the first guy hit her repeatedly. It wasn’t a hand, but some sort of paddle-the sound was loud in the darkness. Rope Man held her firmly, not that she could have moved, spread and secured as she was.

It went on forever. Her ass throbbed. The burn blasted up her back, down her thighs. From far away, she felt hands on her bottom, spreading her cheeks. The cold squirt of lube was a welcome temporary relief, until she realized what was coming next. Again she tried to struggle, but her bottom was arched out, her back curved in welcome. A cock pressed against her anus, pressing until it popped through the virgin hollow of her asshole. He grunted then, fingers grasping her hips as he pressed deeper, filling her bottom with the hard stab of his penis.

Fingers probed her pussy, then raised to her face. Wet and sticky, he rubbed them across her cheek, shoved them into the base of her nose.

“Smell that? That’s you, cunt. Wanting exactly what you’re getting.”

As her eyes adjusted once more to the dark space, she could faintly see him walking away. He came closer again, but stopped. A sharp snap against her belly forced her to push back, further impaling herself on the thick cock in her ass.

Beer Breath relaxed his hold on her hips, lifting her nightgown  until he hooked it  up and behind her head. His hands paused momentarily on her tits, smacking them together. They made an audible clap in the silent room. His hand grabbed her hair, tugging her head back. There was a bright flash of light, the whirr of a camera.

“So you can look back and see yourself, fucked in the ass. See the look in your eyes, a mix of horror and lust.”

With a soft laugh, his fingers slid down her sides, digging once more into her hips.

Rope Man stepped closer. She thought she saw it this time, movement in the air, moments before something slashed against her tit, a rain of fire. Her ass was hot against Beer Breath, a steady throbbing ache, yet the burning of her breasts as the onslaught continued soon overtook that pain.  She barely noticed that he had stopped, that he had moved close, until he sucked one tit into his wet mouth. When he bit her nipple, she screamed into the gag. The deep rumble of laughter she felt against her tender flesh. And then she felt his cock pressing against her slit.


She woke on the kitchen floor when a shaft of sunlight shimmered against her cheek. Her body hurt, crunched on the hard tile. The temperature had fallen during the night, and she shivered when the breeze blew the curtain, curling chill air across the floor. Her nipples crinkled and she moaned.

Sitting up, she looked at herself, and remembered.

Red lines ran around her wrists, her ankles. Bruises covered her tits, darkened one nipple to purple. Her thighs had bite marks, and her ass throbbed. Rising, she noted the drying puddle of sticky fluids in the center of the doorway. Her gaze took in the three bolts screwed deeply into the door frame, one low on each side, one high in the center. She shuddered, remembering more. Looking away quickly, her eyes fell onto a paper on the kitchen table.

It was on pale blue, expensive stock, but as she lifted it, she saw below it, a photo of her, the photo of her, taken during her assault. She stood there, remembering the feel of thick cock inside her ass, as she examined the picture. Her arms secured over head, shiny duct tape over her mouth. There was a silvery mark on each cheek, one she recognized as her own pussy juice that he’d wiped there. Her eyes looked full of fear, her breasts poked out, a bruise already forming on her left one. It was both horrifying and erotic. Dropping the photo, she picked up the blue paper. It was a bill from Danger Date.

She’d need to pay that, immediately.

It Works for Us

It had been a long, long, long time since he and I had any extended play time. And when we have extended time apart, he doesn’t task me with things to do — which is good because I just simply don’t have the time available to do much with being his “good little slut”.

Does that shock you to your core, that last statement there?

Yeah, me too. Once, long ago when this was new and hot and ohmahgawd I wanna do it all and do it now and do it with anyone… I would have thought that a “slut” like that was a bad one. A non-submissive, just a whore.

But now? I’ve been doing this dark and naughty thing we do for a long time…and I am older and wiser. We all serve our tops in a variety of ways…and in the ways that work best for each of our relationships. For all of those relationships that start out gangbusters and going hardcore 24/7 Dom/slave? Very few make it. Sure there is Omega and mouse…and Scott and kaya…and there’s Fiona and her Sir…and if I’ve forgotten to add YOU, apologies. Those are the lone few that leapt to my mind this late evening as I write.

The point here is that you have to make this D/s thing work for YOU. Well you and your Top…but you know that I meant that, right? Anyway…you can’t do this for anyone else. Not for blogland, not for the accolades of others in the lifestyle. If it works for you and makes you happy, then go for it. Don’t feel the need to copy anyone else’s thing and feel that you’re doin’ it wrong if you don’t.

So you all know that M and I don’t live together. We’re semi LDR…(well, long distance as in around 40 miles or so, as opposed to cross-country!)…but between his responsibilities and mine…it’s been very hard on us these last two years. He doesn’t like to Dom (read: give tasks, sex act etc) unless he’s there to reap the benefits of the torment. He’s VERY hands on.

When we played a few weeks ago, it was hard and rough and fast. And cuddling and tickling and pain. And kisses that lasted forever, and brutal fucking and being fingered until I thought my cunt would be swollen and tender forever, followed by that wonderful languid feeling of being well used.

There is also the “one last orgasm” thing he does, when it just hurts so. fucking. much. His fingers jab into my swollen and tender pussy, and I moan and thrash, and he holds me down with brutality, and savages me…and then I’m hot and it’s good and it hurts and oooomygawd…I’m fucking back and then I come and it’s like I’m dying with it…a sudden surging rush of liquid, a bed-soaking orgasm that drains me totally until I fall into the depths of subspace.

All that good stuff aside? He won’t tell me what to wear, won’t tell me what to eat, won’t tell me when to go to bed. He’s my Dom, not my keeper. I’m not his pet, nor his child…so those are my decisions to make. He really doesn’t have a way to enforce it, so if I fuck up? What can be done from afar? Not much. It has worked out to an occasional “you will have two half-o’s tonight, 3 minutes apart, no cumming” and that’s it.

A few years ago I would have been unhappy with that. But these days, when my vanilla life is jam packed–between college teen and schooling two younger kids, and my various jobs and running my own business? I’m stretched pretty thin. There have been times I’ve thought seriously of stopping this blog because how boring am I?

But then I have these dreams, or even these naughty “thinks” that come up in the course of my doing some mundane task or other…and I know I need this outlet to be here for me. Because I am a submissive and I am a slut and I am a horny wench, and I do have a warped sense of what is sexy…sometimes it’s sweet with a touch of pain or teasing, and sometimes it is dark, and vile and nasty and so …untoward…coming out of my head.

Here is a place that I don’t feel at all judged by that.

So you’re stuck with me. And I’m stuck with him, and he with me. We’ll go on making this wacky wild nasty thing we do work…because it does work.

Quiet Corner

for the pervie searcher…thanks for the inspiration…~n~

She sat in the small sliver of sunlight in the quietest corner of the library. The novel, light and romantic, suited her mood. At this late afternoon hour there were few patrons about, and tucked away in this little nook, she was all but invisible.

A shadow fell across her, which she ignored. Occasionally someone would walk behind the stacks and block the slanting light coming from the skylight over the main foyer. The sense of presence made her look up after a moment. Her eyes widened in surprise, her lips parting though she made no sound as she registered who had intruded on her space.

He sat beside her. The slight movement of his head indicated that she should return to her reading. He too opened a book, laying it across his lap. Shifting to lean closer to her, his fingers slipped across her breast, easily flicking open one, then a second button. Her breath caught in her throat as those skilled fingers eased up and into one lace cup, stroking the tip until it rose. Her body clenched, her pussy dampening when he pinched the thick bud.

There, in the long ray of light, he teased her tits, rousing her to a fever of lust. When she would have spoken, his barely spoken ‘hush’ silenced her. She craved more, wanting his long fingers to cradle each tit, to squeeze it until she begged for him to stop, yet he only stroked the tender tips. She longed for his fingers to graze her thighs, to part her weeping lower lips, to make her come, there in the quiet sanctuary of books.

Lips slid across her temple, fingers left her breast, leaving her mourning the loss. Her clit pounded maddeningly, her body lusting to be used, taken, ravaged. The cushion made a tiny squeak as he rose, and moved away.

Breathing in short pants, she tried to calm her racing heart. A breath in, a breath out. Eyes squeezed shut hard, then opened. The library was the same as it had been minutes before, but suddenly she didn’t feel the quiet peace, with the storm of need surging through her. Her eyes fell to the cushion where he’d sat. His book lay there, yet a yellow posty sticking out from pages caught her attention.

Tugging the tome closer, she opened it. A Rubens nude was featured on the page. She recognized “The Union of Earth and Water” but his words on the note made her smile, and yearn.

“Later, you will be my urn, and gush.”

Sub Spacey

Oh, have I been floating. . . and sitting gingerly. Time is not flowing like a river, but whirling around me like a whirlpool…

I’m remembering things at the end. From the beginning, from when-the-fuck-ever. It’s a strange and wonderful feeling, yet also disorienting. I remember …kinda…doing something …maybe hugging him or kissing him and he was pushing me, steering me and then somehow I’m on the bed and my ass is bare and he’s beating my ass

so so so so

wicked hard.

His hand had to hurt (he denies this)…I’d like to believe it, anyway. Because my ass really, really hurt. Stung like hellfire, and he had this way of hitting with the heel of his hand that was like a pounding, punching kind of blow, that was very painful.

And of course, he HAD to hit the same spot.


And again.

And again….

…until I’d rear up and yelp and whimper and make him laugh.

But let me slip back to the end. I was deeeeeep in subspace. I was floating, my head just gone. I was aware of him…his warmth, his arm around me, fingers in my hair. I couldn’t move even if he’d let me, I was totally trashed by then. The bed under me soaked from orgasm overload, and feeling totally boneless.

His lips move against my hair, and I realize that he is talking, not just kissing me. I tried to hear the words, to make the sounds have meaning, but for a few moments there, I’m totally lost. At last I focus enough to follow him. In time to hear this:

“You know nilla, when I was fucking your ass?”

I make some sort of ‘yes’ sound so that he knows I’m really listening now.

“It kind of reminded me….”

I’m encouraging him to go on, making little mewls of yes-sounding sounds…but I’m also wondering. Where the fuck is he going with this. I begin to feel myself pulled back into the now, with him, beside him, back inside myself.

Fucking my ass reminded him of something other than fucking my ass?

(really…should I be insulted? Embarrassed? What? Where is he going with this analogy?)

He pauses a long moment.

“….of separating cheese slices.”

There is a long, long pause. And I snort. And then I giggle.

Soon, I’m shaking with laughter, laughing so hard that I start coughing. He’s laughing, we are simply hysterical with it. After a bit, we calm down again, silent, me still giggling a bit.

“You know how it’s all stuck together and tight…”

And I’m off, laughing myself right back into subspace.

Fuckin’ A….

F is for floaty, fucking, fabulous, food, feet(tickling), fetish (shoes), feeling (emotional and tit mangling)…

A is for awesome …amazing…aaand…I’m outta words because …see F above…

I’m half fucked to death.


Remember When This Was a Sex Blog…

…I would write and rhapsodize about Master and I and sex and beatings and orgasm overload and beatings and subspace?

But it’s been a long dry spell. No playtime, little face time…just enough to keep us connected…almost 6 years of being his collared slut, 7 years of being together has carried us through.

But it’s been a L O N G long  L  O  N  G dry spell for Master and nilla.

But my Pervie peeps, all of that is about to change! It’s gonna be rainin’ in the desert tonight!

(Then this will really be a sex blog again!)

Tit for Tat HNT

Ya’ll wanted to see the new tattoo?

The one for M?

It’s there…but…you know tat’s are very personal and distinctive, right? So to keep my anonymity IRL…I doctored the pic just a bit. 😀   Happy HNT, pervie peeps!



“Please, Sir, may I cum?”

She was so close. That close. Hanging there, right on the edge of orgasm as his fingers slipped and twisted inside her pussy. Her hips undulated on the bed, waves of need rolling palpably from her pleading body. Though she couldn’t see him, damn the blindfold, she felt the loss as he moved away from the open Y of her legs.

“I think…not quite yet, pet,” he said, his tone seeming both regretful and amused. She whimpered low in her throat. She felt him wiping his fingers along her inner thigh. There was a rush of cooler air against her splayed-apart crotch as he left her.  From across the room there were curious noises where she knew he kept his ‘toys’…if one could call such weapons ‘toys’. The innocuous word always made her grin just a little bit, even as she shivered at what they did to her.

Her body began to cool, the vicious heat from the near-orgasm fading, but not completely. Her throbbing pussy calmed, her hips became quiescent on the bed. The rapid thumping of her pulse–in her clit, in her throat, between her breasts–slowed. She jolted even before she became fully aware of the sharp snap against her cunt.


Nothing followed. Unable to close her legs, her knees swiveled in place, trying to soothe the ache along her vulnerable slit. The sound was nearly as fierce as the blow, the sharp snap of the mysterious object striking her tender, wet flesh. Beneath the sting of hurt grew a desperate hunger. The clitoris responded, swelling full, throbbing insistently. A steady trail of silvered dew wept from her lower lips.

“Owwwww,” she moaned, her knees jerking as another blow caused her to gasp and try to pull away. The ropes held her there, open to his depredations.

“I….” she gasped, as the sensations began to swamp her, “…I need to cum, Sir, please Sir!”

Once more the soft sounds of his footfalls came to her. He was moving away…again.

“No, slut, not just now,” he replied, his tone sounding disinterested, the bastard!

It took longer for the sensations to settle, the level of need growing. She held steady, her arousal a sharp scent in her nose and a heated throb in her loins. She lay there, open, waiting, hoping for him to return. There was only silence in the room; she could hear nothing over the roar of need in her ears.

“Please?” she begged into the quiet room.

“Please? For what are you asking slut?”

She heard the slyness there, felt the trap closing around her. He had told her he would make her beg, make her plead, make her cry for her release. She’d not believed him then.

She believed him now.




Me: M…. I’m worried that my ankle won’t be better by our play date and I won’t be able to walk around in the heels you like. … (insert feeling morose and trepidation here)

Master: I wouldn’t worry about it nilla. .. you won’t be spending any time walking around.

Me: *blink blink* (realize I’m on the phone) (insert naughty giggle here)

Master: mmmhmm.